The phrase, “nearly always fatal,” or words to that effect, appears in every description of rabies I have managed to find in the last twelve hours. Here is why I’m looking up rabies.
Late last night I was working in the basement, on the computer, as I usually do, and I heard behind me a thump, then another in rapid succession. I turned to look, and a bat swooped out of the darkness, took a right at the treadmill, and disappeared upstairs. It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened.
Ten minutes later, I’m edging down the hall, a laundry bag inside out on my winter-gloved hands, my wife is standing as far behind me as she can get while still training a flashlight on this poor little bat, wedged as tight as he can into a corner jamb by the door to the garage. In those ten intervening minutes I had managed to locate the bat, get a flashlight, wake my wife, we’d called the 24-hour pest removal place (which was closed), and I’d tried to capture it once already, using fireplace gloves so thick I couldn’t even feel if I had the bat or not.
The poor bat was clearly scared witless, throwing off musky scent and chittering for all he was worth when I had him in my hands. I’m sure he was biting at me. I couldn’t bring myself to kill him (I know, Denny, I know), so we stuck him in the bag out in the garage overnight. Better for me, I’m sure it was worse for him.
This morning we called everybody and their cousin. Our concern was for our kids. Bats carry rabies (especially bats that sit there and let you pick them up). There’s been mention lately in the media that children can be unaware of a bat bite, especially if they sleep soundly and are bitten in bed. So we called our pediatrician.
He offered that he had once had sixty-five bats in his house, and the best remedy had been a tennis racket. Then he suggested that, rather than start our two little boys on a course of treatment (five shots in 28 days), as he considers it highly unlikely that they were bitten, we should send the bat off to be tested for rabies. So we called our vet.
They offered to take the bat, freeze it, and send it off to Kansas State for said testing. So I drove our bagged bat, which was no longer making any noises (sorry, little guy), to our vet and gladly handed him off, if only because I could hand off the guilt, too. I’ve always been a softie for animals, and this bat was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m also a parent, and I will gladly murder cute little rodents to protect my family.
More when we get the results back.